<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Too Sober to Care by MisterRJ</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207443">Too Sober to Care</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterRJ/pseuds/MisterRJ'>MisterRJ</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Child Abandonment, Family Dynamics, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Older brother Jschlatt, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Younger Brother Tubbo, but you can't imagine a good dad, depends on perspective, i guess, its all ao3 could provide, please get therapy kids, technically also - Freeform, the dynamic works okay?, the word implied doesn't really cut it but, trauma go brrr, when you want to write dad!jschlatt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:20:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,707</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterRJ/pseuds/MisterRJ</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey, what if I conveniently wrote a fic about older brother stuff the night before techno dropped the sbi family? Hmmmm, I’m glad to bless you all with my impeccable timing.</p><p>From a young age, Jschlatt has had to look after his younger brother, Tubbo, and other shit. Also, alcoholism.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt &amp; Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Too Sober to Care</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ummm, anyway. I was inspired by dad!jschlatt stuff, but I don’t believe in the existence of good fathers, so instead, an older-brother!jschlatt. This is, of course, just for ‘fun’. Do not take it seriously in terms of the actual ccs mentioned and don’t shove it in their faces. If I hear they don’t want this shit, I’ll take it down</p><p>(I didn't include this with my one-shot book because it didn't fit the vibe.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jschlatt’s hand gripped the beer bottle. He was leaned back in his lay-z-boy and watching a stupid football game rerun, instead of doing what he was supposed to. That being, watching his little brother. He wasn’t neglecting the kid or anything, though. The munchkin had to be fucking fast asleep at this point. Before dinner, he’d even made sure Tubbo had finished his homework. </p><p>It hadn’t been too hard, the kid was just learning about multiplying, and considering Jschlatt was looking at colleges to go to, he had a good grasp on his multiplication tables. Afterwards, he looked at the art Tubbo had drawn likely while he was supposed to be listening to his teacher, Jschlatt guessed. He picked up a piece which depicted several small bees with stick arms having a tea party, declared it was worth a million Schlatt Coins, and hung it on their fridge. Satisfied with his replacement of parenting, he escorted Tubbo to his room and told him to go to sleep by at least 9.</p><p>From then on, he worked on his own shit. It wasn’t like he was applying to any super cool or expensive colleges. He wasn’t what one would call ‘traditionally smart’ and he certainly wasn’t rich. The charm he did have, which he used to scam people sometimes, paid for things like the piano that now sat in Tubbo’s room or the laptops he’d been fortunate enough to ‘borrow’ for the two of them. It was really his only practical skill, so there he sat, deciding to be a business major. </p><p>A long time ago, he dreamed of being an athlete like the ones his dad would watch on the television or a famous artist that he’d hear when his mom turned on her little radio. Sooner, rather than later, he accepted that it was unrealistic and he needed to have reasonable expectations for himself. He wasn’t strong or talented. His only skills were being a remorseless dick who would trick people out of hundreds of dollars without a second thought. At least it made him special.</p><p>Now, there he was emptying another bottle, maybe his third. He wasn’t even out of the house and he’d already grown up to be like his father. His father, he’d just leave this shit sitting around. He remembered, when he was a kid, a little older than Tubbo, he’d decided to drink some. If his dad liked it so much, would it be horrible if he had it? It was. The shit burnt the whole time, like if wasps had liquid shit. </p><p>The disgusting taste was forgotten about when he bragged to his friends about drinking it. He grinned when their jaws dropped, feeling cool and edgy. It didn’t matter it tasted like shit, he hadn’t even gotten drunk yet. Maybe that’s what everyone liked about it.</p><p>So, he did. It was a few years later, but still. It was his fifteenth birthday and he didn’t know where either of his parents were. The only person at the house was his five year old brother, Tubbo, who was fast asleep. He thought about how much children slept while in between the harsh coughs caused by the drink. After finishing the bottle, he let out a burp, feeling light headed and tired. Spoiler alert, being drunk was not exciting at all.</p><p>He mentioned it to his friends a few weeks later, casually. They all laughed it off, some more nervous than others. Jschlatt frowned a little, disappointed by their boring reactions. </p><p>Months flew by and he’d almost forgotten about it. Almost. That night, Tubbo had gone off to a sleepover for the first time, with his friend Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Tubbo would never shut up about Tommy. Tubbo had him over once, without even asking Jschlatt. He twitched a little when the blond asked why there were so many beer bottles out, but snorted and rolled his eyes a second later. Fucking privileged.</p><p>He knew it wasn’t fair to think that, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t known for being fair, after all.</p><p>He was thankful for the annoying motherfucker that night. With Tubbo out of the house, he could do whatever he wanted without a care. In reality, Tubbo could’ve gotten injured at the other house or something, but J was only fifteen. He didn’t think that far ahead.</p><p>Instead of his younger brother, the light of his world, he was thinking about his father. He was thinking about the bruise he’d gotten the night before. He remembered his heart beating and his hands shaking as he moved his fork. His eyes flicked from his TV dinner to Tubbo. The kid was playing around with his fucking food, that was it. That was all! He was literally a fucking kid, but their father stared the child down like he was committing a terrible sin. It would only be a matter of time before he accidentally flicked some food off the table or dropped his fork.</p><p>Instead, J took the fall. Normally, he would forge his father’s signature, but he really didn’t want to see his father yell at his five year old brother until he started crying. The crying would probably make the yelling worse, actually. So there J was, stuttering out that he’d been absent seven whole days that quarter. His father, despite literally not giving a shit about what he did in school, proceeded to, well, you know.</p><p>So, now, he was shaking again. He thought about his father. He thought about his mother. She’d been gone a while now, almost three weeks. Worst of all, his first mid-terms were in a few hours. With all his studying, he couldn’t take time off to buy Tubbo his annual Christmas present, and it sucked. It truly did.</p><p>He couldn’t sleep that night. His thoughts were a combination of pity and hatred. He knew his father was bad, like, no shit. But, if he could just- lived up to whatever he expected of him, he would care. He couldn’t sleep. What if he walked through the door, and just started beating the shit out of J? What if he didn’t stop? What would happen to poor Tubbo? He didn’t want to think about it, so instead he drank. He drank until he had to piss really bad, which was after his second bottle. He dropped it from his hands. It landed on the carpet and didn’t shatter. J frowned. He’d heard the noise of glass shattering before, and he quite liked it. He stared at it for a moment, fingers itching for something beyond his reach, before remembering his full bladder.</p><p>That was all for him that night, after he’d literally fallen asleep on the toilet. He showed up to pick up Tubbo a little late, rocking shades and a headache. The man who greeted him, presumably Tommy’s dad, raised his eyebrows, but didn’t ask. Good. He apologized, and took Tubbo back to his house. </p><p>He didn’t realize he’d forgotten to clean until Tubbo was eating lunch. The kid muttered something and J pulled off his cheap headphones and asked him to repeat the question. He asked if their dad had been home. J shook his head, reassuring Tubbo he was still out, but he was a little confused. He glanced over to Tubbo, following the kid’s eyes. Shit. Shit. The empty bottle was still on the floor.</p><p>He knew if he moved to throw it away, he’d be acknowledging Tubbo’s suspicions, and he really didn’t want to do that. So, instead he put his headphones back on. Deep in his heart, he knew Tubbo was smart enough to know what had happened. The kid was intuitive, frighteningly so, sometimes.</p><p>Now, he sat watching the sport, while not watching it at all. His head was ablaze, smoking and full of meaningless fuzz. He wondered what to get Tubbo for Christmas this year. The kid had been talking nonstop about some video game called Minecraft that Tommy had introduced him to. Yes, that Tommy. It was only like thirty dollars, so, J could spare a few bucks. Money had gotten easier to manage since he’d started hiding it from his father, not to mention his father being home way less. He even got himself a decent present, a bank account. Technically, it was work related. He may or may not be putting money from his online scams into the account.</p><p>Aside from his possible alcoholism, life was looking up. The only bump in the road was what to do with Tubbo when he was at college, and he already had that pretty much figured out. He’d simply sneak him into his apartment. It didn’t really count as kidnapping, right? J was too scared to look up the laws about that. Most of the colleges he was looking at were close to Tubbo’s school, and Tubbo was really independent already. It certainly wasn’t the best plan, but it was the best he could do, at least until he turned eighteen, and could legally Tubbo. That would have its own complications too, J groaned just thinking about it. He got up to get, what? His fifth bottle?</p><p>He was stopped, though. The sound of crying came from Tubbo’s room. J frowned and speed walked to Tubbo room, trying not to frighten him when he opened the door. The kid was asleep, likely having one of his night terrors. It wouldn’t be the first time J had to cuddle his sibling. He chuckled, watching Tubbo calm when J pulled Tubbo into his chest and wrapped his arms around the kid’s head. Tubbo reciprocated subconsciously, wrapping his own arms around J’s waist. That night was one J would partially forget, unfortunately. In the morning, J would slip on his ‘bad night sunglasses’ and drive Tubbo to school as normal, driving slightly below the speed limit, tired and untrusting of his own brain. Tubbo would not speak of his nightmare, and J would not ask. </p><p>Maybe, just maybe, the next time Tubbo had a bad night, J would be sober enough to remember it, and then talk about it in the morning. But it was all just wishful thinking, from the both of them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry if I ever misspelt Jschlatt's name. </p><p>But also hope you enjoyed.</p><p>Have this out of context meme I made at 4 am, directly following me finishing this fic.</p><p>Nobody:<br/>Me:😠<br/>Clocks:🕕🕦🕚🕐🕥🕧🕙🕣🕠🕝</p><p>I have a headache now from pulling an all-nighter<br/>):</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>